


The Flowers Were Not Helpful

by vanishresponse



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Consent Issues, F/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29257794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishresponse/pseuds/vanishresponse
Summary: Locke sends a sex pollened Jude to Cardan's room. This leaves Cardan concerned about his life expectancy.
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	The Flowers Were Not Helpful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LamiaCalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamiaCalls/gifts).



> Thank you to Bustle for the beta and alamorn for brainstorming help!

Cardan woke up to the feeling of someone starting to grind against his cock.

It wasn't the first time that he'd been woken up that way, so he wasn't particularly surprised. He couldn't remember bringing someone to bed with him, but he had been drunk when the revel ended at dawn. It was understandable that he'd have a few gaps in his memory.

Besides, his current situation was enjoyable enough that he wasn’t inclined to question it. He rocked his hips, trying to find the perfect spot, enjoying the pleasure building up inside of him.

The grinding sped up in pace. He heard a moan in a voice that sounded familiar.

That made him open his eyes.

"Jude?" he said, blinking up at her.

She was straddled over him, wearing nothing but a set of mortal underwear. He could see almost every part of her, and she was panting as she dragged herself over his cock.

It was both arousing and bewildering. This was the kind of scene that belonged in his most distressingly erotic dreams, not in reality.

"What are you doing here?" he managed to ask.

She ignored his question.

"Cardan," Jude said, her voice low and breathless. "You're awake."

She gave one final wriggle on top of him and leaned closer. She smelled like flowers, a scent that was oddly familiar—was it some kind of perfume? But Jude didn't wear anything that would give away her scent.

Then, he decided that wasn't worth worrying about, because Jude kissed him.

Her tongue slipped into his mouth. Her lips were soft against his, and she kissed like she couldn't get enough of him. She pulled her arms up to wrap around his shoulders, her fingers fumbling over his skin as if she was hungry for his touch.

He'd been kissed more artfully before, but this was as teasing as anything he'd ever experienced. Groaning, Cardan kissed her back, pressing his erection up against her through the fabric of his drawers.

She wasn't even completely naked, yet she put all of his nighttime dreams to shame.

Eagerly, he lifted his hands to her back, tracing the tips of his fingers against her warm skin and the edge of the scars she would otherwise have never shown him. It felt like their bodies fit together perfectly; everywhere they touched, his body thrilled with pleasure and with the desire for more.

She got up and pushed his hands away. Before he could protest, she sat between his legs, reaching into his drawers to press her hand against his cock.

Cardan could feel the warmth of her palm and the strength of her fingers. He jerked his hips up into her hand, letting out an embarrassingly loud moan. He already felt so close to coming.

"I want you inside me," Jude said, panting. "Cardan, please."

That was when he realized something was wrong.

Because he could believe that he'd been drunk enough to invite Jude to his bed. He could even believe that she might accept, if she was having a lapse in judgment or if she decided to take his proposal as a challenge. But he couldn't believe that she would ever beg him for anything.

"Wait," Cardan said. He sat up, leaning back against the headboard, and pushed her hand away. "Hold on a minute, Jude. How did you get here?"

She hadn't even been at the revel last night. He would have remembered if she had.

She shrugged. "Locke told me to come here."

The smell of flowers still hung in the air. It really did smell familiar.

"Did he have something with him?" he asked. "White flowers, shaped like bells?"

She nodded. "How did you know?"

He knew because he'd seen and smelled those flowers at the revels in Hollow Hall. Balekin had been fond of using them on guests, especially the unwilling. Their dust had the same effect as a potion of lust—most of the time, anyway. When someone who'd taken in the dust of the flower wasn't able to sate their desires, they became violent.

For Balekin, the violence had been part of the draw; he liked to see what happened when people resisted.

Cardan had thought he'd never have to see anything like those scenes again. But now Jude was here, drugged and in front of him.

"Locke drugged you," he said. He surprised himself with the fury in his voice. "Jude, I'm sorry. I'll make sure that Locke—"

He paused mid sentence, unable to think of how he could even begin to make up for this.

"We can worry about that later," Jude said, leaning against him and brushing a hand against his cheek, and he stared at her in disbelief.

Her response was so absurd, so unlike Jude, that he couldn't even focus too much on the fact that she was touching him. Jude cared and worried about _everything_ , especially when it came to her enemies. He had come to rely on that. 

Her indifference was somehow as awful as everything else.

She examined his face. He realized belatedly that he must have been too obvious about his thoughts, because she frowned.

Jude grabbed his chin, pulling him closer with a grip hard enough to hurt, and he winced.

"Cardan," she said, and both her tone and the firmness of her grip made him uneasy. "Don't you want me?"

He thought about the things he'd seen in Hollow Hall.

He could just give up. He could give her what she wanted—what the flower made her want, anyway. They could pass a few pleasant hours tumbling in bed until the effects of the flower wore off.

It didn't sound like a bad idea. No one would be hurt, and they would even have fun. He flattered himself that he was a pleasant lover. Besides, what was he supposed to do? He was under duress as much as she was. And if Jude hadn't been able to figure out how to avoid the situation, he certainly couldn't be expected to do anything either. 

He could kiss her right now upon her lips and then on the hollow of her throat; he could press their bodies and touch her until he made her scream, and there would be nothing wrong with that.

Nothing, except for the fact that Jude would hate him.

Not just the way she hated him now; it'd be a deeper kind of hate. She might decide that she didn't need a puppet king after all. Then she would kill him, and he would deserve it.

She might still decide to hate him now, given what had already happened, but he could at least appeal to the fact that he hadn't known.

"Cardan?" Jude said, shifting impatiently.

"I was distracted by you," he said. He smiled up at her and tried to keep the nervous edge out of it. When he smiled out of nervousness, she tended to think he was mocking her. The last thing he wanted to do was come across as insincere.

He could run away. If he could figure out how to get her away from him for long enough to get to the door, he could run and summon the guards. They could keep her restrained until the drug wore off, and then he could pretend none of this had ever happened.

But it would have happened. Word would spread throughout the court. There would be no way Jude could hold onto the Council then. Knowing Jude, she would probably also decide that he'd planned the whole thing with Locke as part of a cunning plan to escape her control.

So that wouldn't work either.

There was only one thing to do. He had to make sure he neither gave in nor rejected her; it would be a difficult line to walk, and he tried not to think too hard about how badly it could go wrong.

"Jude," he said. "I want you."

He softened his eyes, gazing up at her with the kind of look that he'd give someone he was really trying to make his lover. "You should know that. Remember back in the Court of Shadows, when you kissed me with a knife to my throat? I still dream about that."

He hadn't meant to admit that part. It had slipped out in his nervousness, and as soon as he'd said it, he wished that he'd said something else. It was embarrassing to admit that he'd been given one of the best kisses of his life as a captive at knifepoint.

But it was too late to take his words back. At least they seemed to work.

Jude's expression softened. Her hand loosened from his chin as she stared at him, her lips parting.

Cardan managed not to sigh out loud in relief.

"I dream about you too," Jude said, so softly that he had to lean forward to hear.

His heart skipped a beat, which was foolish of him. She was hardly thinking straight right now, and she could lie. There was no reason to take her words seriously and no reason to wonder what she might have dreamed about. He shouldn't have felt exposed and vulnerable; he shouldn't have felt as if she was holding his heart between her hands.

While he stared at her, she came closer and kissed him, her hands sliding hungrily along his skin; he was too surprised to stop her. He closed his eyes and let her push him back against the headboard, losing himself in the kiss until he remembered: she would hate him.

Cardan turned his face away.

"Jude," he said quickly. He grabbed her hand, tracing his thumb along her palm. "I want us to do this differently."

She frowned. "Differently?"

He really hoped this would work.

"I want us to do things right," he said. "I don't want this thing between us to be a momentary fling in my bed. Let's start over."

He leaned forward so that his lips almost touched her ear.

"Let me show you the things I want to do to you, Jude," he whispered.

She sighed, and Cardan knew then that he'd won.

"Show me," she said.

He pulled away. She turned, watching him, and he grabbed the blanket from the bed and tucked it around her.

"There's something I need to get," he said. "Wait for me here."

When he came back from the other room, he was holding two goblets of red wine. He offered the one in his right hand to her.

She took it, though she frowned. At least she only looked confused, not suspicious.

"You went to get wine?" she asked.

"Wine sets the mood," he said, forcing cheer into his voice. He smiled at her. "If we're going to be lovers, we should first have a drink with each other."

He sat beside her on the bed and lifted his goblet in a toast. "To my seneschal," he said. "And the time we'll spend together."

She drank; the goblet was empty when she set it down on the nightstand beside the bed.

He waited for a moment longer, looking down at the wine in his hand, before he drank. 

When he set his wine down, she reached for him, but then, her body wavered.

Jude slumped forward, as the sleeping draught he used to suppress his nightmares took effect.

He caught her and laid her down upon the bed. Then, he tucked the blanket around her, more carefully this time.

There was a part of him that couldn't believe that had worked: that he had managed to outwit Jude, even a drugged-out-of-her-senses Jude. It almost made him want to laugh from sheer relief.

"You're my seneschal," he said, looking down at her sleeping form. "It's your job to keep me out of trouble, not the other way around.'

 _If it weren't for the oath, I'd fire you,_ he thought, but he couldn't say it. It was a lie.

A few strands of hair had fallen over her face. He leaned over her, tucking the reddish-brown strands of hair behind the curve of her rounded ear. She wouldn't remember this part, anyway.

"I don't mind," he said, which was actually the truth.

She looked strange lying there in his bed, her eyes closed and her expression without even the slightest hint of guile or calculation. She looked peaceful and content; in some ways, it felt as if she was more exposed than when he saw her naked. 

Observing her made him feel as though he was being seen as well; that was strange too. Silly as well, because there was no one else here awake but him.

He decided not to think too hard about why he felt that way. His day had already been trying enough as it was.

Cardan turned toward the window, looking at the sunlight shining in through the sides of the curtains. It was still early for most of the Folk, and Jude would be passed out for a while yet.

He went to his closet and got dressed; he doubted she would appreciate waking up to the sight of him in his drawers. When he returned, he laid down beside her, keeping a hands-width between them.

After a while, his eyes closed.

* * *

Though he usually didn't sleep well without wine or drugs, Cardan ended up having a surprisingly pleasant nap.

At least, until he woke up with a blade to his throat.

Jude stared down at him furiously, her expression grim. 

"You're back," Cardan said, smiling from relief, until it occurred to him that this was an inappropriate reaction to having a knife pressed to his throat.

She looked furious. His smile turned nervous.

"What happened after I got here?" she asked.

He blinked.

"You don't remember?" he asked, appalled.

How could she not remember, after all of the effort he'd gone to in order to save both of their skins from Locke's plans? He'd been both considerate and clever.

Apparently, she didn't like that answer, because the knife pressed harder against his throat. Cardan tried his best not to move.

"I convinced you to take a sleeping potion," he said quickly, giving her a flustered smile. "And then you went to sleep. So did I, apparently."

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. That was it. He was going to be the first King of Elfhame to be knifed in bed by his seneschal. The worst part was that he was not entirely sorry to have Jude pin him down and stare intensely into his face.

"And nothing happened before that?"

"Some things might have happened," he admitted.

He spoke hastily, trying to seem as convincing and trustworthy as possible. "I didn't know what Locke was planning. I was confused and waking up, and you were just there. If you won't believe my good intentions, I understand that, and that caution is probably warranted, but at least believe I'm not so much of a fool as to play games with someone who holds my life in their hands. I wouldn't tempt your vengeance this way."

He stared at her earnestly. "We're on the same side, remember?"

Jude was silent. Cardan waited, breathing carefully beneath the knife.

"I believe you," she said, pulling the knife away.

Her expression settled. It was like she'd folded the fury away somewhere secret until she could focus again; he saw the usual plans and calculations in her eyes. She looked at him with an iron gaze.

"I'll deal with Locke," she said. "You won't interfere.”

He gave her his most reassuring smile. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He was annoyed with Locke too. In any case, encouraging Jude to vent her anger on someone who wasn't him seemed like a good idea.

"You won't mention this to anyone," she said. "That's an order."

"Of course," he said.

He wouldn't have mentioned it anyway. She really would never believe that they were on the same side.

His eyes settled upon the knife. The carvings along it looked familiar, and when he recognized what they were, he laughed.

"That's _my_ knife," he said. "I got it for my coronation. You just threatened me in my own bedroom with my own knife."

That was somehow hysterical. She was the one who'd ended up nearly naked and drugged twice, but somehow, she was the one who'd ended up on top of him with a weapon.

She gave him a level look, apparently not sharing his sense of humor. "I had to find something," she said. "And you were the one sloppy enough to leave it around."

"I'm allowed to be sloppy," he said. He stretched out against the bed, feeling surprisingly comfortable again. They were on safer ground now: she would go after Locke, and he was still her puppet king, and if the air was still tense between them, when was it ever not?

He smiled. "Sloppiness is one of the prerogatives of kingship. Why else do you think I have a seneschal?"

The words that slipped out were warmer than he intended, but in his defense, he wasn't thinking particularly clearly. She'd just pressed a knife to his throat.

He saw a faint flush rising in her cheeks—irritation at his flippancy, no doubt, as much as he would have liked to believe that it was something else.

She looked away, glancing around the room. "You didn't hide my clothes somewhere, did you?"

"No," he said. "You were already undressed when I woke up."

She grimaced. "I'll have to borrow yours."

She didn't ask before she headed off to his closet, wrapping the blanket around herself. 

When she left the closet, she was wearing a tunic and pants and pulling on a coat. She had picked clothes that were easy to move in and unobtrusive, some of the simplest he owned. She tossed the blanket back onto the bed.

"Queen Gliten's representative will probably be approaching you soon," she said, all business, as if she hadn't just left his bed nearly naked and wasn't currently wearing his clothes. "He'll try to get you to take sides in the new border disputes his queen is involved in. Don't offend him, but don't promise him anything either. I'll handle him later."

"I'll hold him off," he said. He tried not to stare too much at the sight of her dressed in his clothing; it was making him think too hard about the clothes he knew well rubbing against her skin.

She nodded. When she left, it wasn't through the front door; it was through the secret passageway.

The blanket was still warm. Cardan wrapped it around himself, settling onto the divan near the window.

He stayed there for a long time.


End file.
